Private Eye Potter
by Celestia Craven Genesis
Summary: After the Wizarding War, Harry moves to New York City to escape from his fame. He becomes a talented but modest private investigator, keeping himself out of the papers. When Tony Stark goes missing in Afghanistan, Pepper Potts asks him for help. As time runs out, Harry realizes that he may have to sacrifice his anonymity for Tony's life.
1. Missing Person

**Published**: Tues July 2, 2013

**Notes**: I really have no idea where this came from. I truly can't remember. It was lying around and I polished the idea and here's the first chapter. I would appreciate any constructive criticism and if anyone would like to Beta it, I would be most grateful. Ironman knowledge comes from the movies only, since I haven't read the comics.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Missing Person

* * *

A woman with red hair sat drinking a coffee in a cafe, immeasurably worried. A moment later, a teenage girl with bushy brown hair joined her, plopping down in the chair at the other side of the table.

"Hey, Pepper!" the teenager chirped.

Pepper Potts gave a half hearted smile. "Hello, Hermione," she said.

Hermione grimaced at the dark mood. "Has there been any word?" she asked.

"Not a thing," Pepper said, looking into her cold coffee. "Not even a whisper of an idea."

Hermione shook her head, eyes pinched with worry. "How long has he been missing?" she asked.

"A month already," Pepper replied. "They say that they're still looking, but I can tell. They've already given up. I think the only person who still has any hope is Rodney."

There was a moment of silence. Hermione turned her face away from her friend and looked out the window. "Hey," Hermione said. "If I told you I knew of some way to find Mister Stark, would you listen?"

Pepper's head jerked up in surprise. "What?" she asked. Then, she stammered. "Well, of course I would!"

Hermione turned back to Pepper with a deadly serious face. "Meet me at 207 Manchester Street tomorrow morning at eleven. I have someone that you'll want to meet."

Pepper blinked. "Oh, okay," she said. "If it can help, in any way at all . . ."

Hermione stood up and began to walk away. She pause mid-stride and turned back to her friend. "It may seem crazy," she said, "but I've never seen him fail––even something as strange as finding a man in all of Afghanistan. If there's anyone that can help you, it's him."

Hermione spun on her heel and began to walk away. Maybe telling Pepper about _him_ hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now. Besides, Hermione had believed every word she had said. Only _he_ would be able to help Pepper if everyone else had failed.

~ oOo ~

"Is this the place?" Pepper asked, stepping out of the car.

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, absently adjusting the strap of her messenger bag as she stood from the park bench she had been waiting on.

"Wait here," Pepper told her driver, Happy Hogan, before closing the car door.

Pepper paused to study the three story office for a moment. It was in an old building in downtown, one of those places that had been in the area for at least a century and still had ancient strength in its bricks. The outside could use a few minor repairs, but it seemed respectable.

Hermione pushed open the glass lobby door and stepped inside, her friend following behind her. Pepper blinked in surprise at the lavish decoration of the interior. The tiles were marble and polished till it seemed like a mirror. There were potted plants and park benches in the lobby, with large paintings on the walls.

In a small office connected to the lobby sat a uniformed security guard at his desk. Hermione nodded to the security guard, saying, "I'm taking her up to the third floor, 'kay?"

"Sure, Hermione," the security guard said. "How did your test go yesterday?"

"Great!" Hermione beamed. "I got a ninety-eight percent!"

"Good for you," the security guard said amiably. "Hurry along now."

Hermione marched to the shiny elevator doors and pressed the up button, patiently waiting for the machine to drop to the first floor. As the doors opened and she stepped into the elevator, Pepper started to wonder at Hermione's familiarity with this place.

They arrived promptly at the third floor, exiting the elevator and Hermione taking a sharp left, walking quickly toward the door at the end of the hallway.

Hermione stopped at the door, making a motion for Pepper to knock.

Pepper paused for a moment, studying the door. The bubbled glass was painted with _H. J. Potter, Private Investigator_.

Hermione gave a small huff of annoyance at the redhead's hesitance and strode forward, knocking boldly at the door and causing it to shake.

"Hello?" a male voice called.

A moment later, the door opened wide and a young, black-haired man with circular silver glasses peered out at them. He blinked at Pepper for a moment before glancing toward Hermione with a small smile.

"A client?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, striding past the young man into the office. She immediately sat herself into an armchair with familiarity.

The young man looked at the red-haired woman with an expectant look, opening the door wider. She peered all around as she slowly walked into the office, clutching to her leather purse.

It was a rather small office, but the impression it left was cozy and not crowded at all. A large window on the back wall shone light onto the floor, with pictures surrounding the window. In front of the window was an antique desk, facing toward the door. In front of the desk were two armchairs with a side table in between them. Tucked to the side was a couch and a pair of large, stuffed bookcases.

Though obviously occupied, the room was extremely clean to the point of obsession and the office was meticulously organized in some sort of chaotic order, easy to recognize but hard to explain or understand.

"Please, sit down," the man said.

Pepper walked toward the other armchair and sat down, crossing her legs and brushing wrinkled out of her skirt.

The man closed the door behind them and strode toward the desk, leaning against the edge. "My name is Potter, and I'm a private investigator," he said.

Potter nodded his head toward Hermione, who had made herself quite comfortable and looked about ready to take a nap. "Hermione has probably already told you that I'm good at what I do. I have references for you perusal if you wish, but you won't find much mention of me in the newspapers––I tend to keep an extremely low profile to the point of paranoia."

Pepper nodded. "Yes," she said, out of her depth but falling back on her experience as an employee of Stark Industries, "I would like to see your references."

"Sure," Potter said amicably. He walked over to his filing cabinet and unlocked a drawer with a key from his bulging keychain. He flipped through his folders before withdrawing one and placing it on the side table between the armchairs.

Pepper picked up the folder and began flipping through it, listening absently as Potter continued to talk.

"What is your name? And what is your problem?" Potter asked.

Pepper tore her eyes away from the documents––copies of police records and letters from former clients––to glance back up at the private investigator. "Potts," she said, "Pepper Potts. My––"

"Your employer, Tony Stark, has disappeared without a trace into the sands of Afghanistan," Potter finished for her with a small twitch of his lips. "I _have_ left my house this past month, yes. So no one has any news?"

"Well, no," Pepper admitted.

Potter smiled. "I thought so," he said, leaning on his desk again. "Or else you wouldn't be taking to a humble private investigator."

"And I'm at my wit's end," Pepper admitted.

Potter rubbed his chin in thought. "I really do try to avoid big cases, Hermione," he remarked.

Hermione sniffed. "Well, I don't see why!" she said. "You've never failed an investigation and you've uncovered dozens of criminals––you're perfected qualified. Lots of your police friends keep trying to recruit you as an official detective."

Potter's hand twitched. "I hate publicity," he said flatly.

"Indiana Jones hates snakes. MacGyver hates heights," Hermione said, shaking her head as she withdrew a black leather-bound notebook out of her messenger bag, "but you have to be the strangest action hero of all. You hate publicity."

Pepper watched as Potter her friend Hermione seemed to have a silent battle of wills.

"Fine!" Potter said at last, throwing his hands in the air. He shook his finger at Hermione, "but _only_ this once and _only_ because she's your friend!"

Hermione smirked in victory, opening the leather-bound notebook and clicking a ballpoint pen open. Her expression was unquestionably one of silent superiority.

Potter turned back to his client. "Well, I'll accept your case," he said. "You want me to find a V.I.P. Missing Person in another country––that's five thousand dollars upon completion. I've giving you a special deal 'cuz Hermione seems worried for you. Take it or leave it, Miss Potts."

Pepper was taken aback. That had probably been the quickest business proposal of her entire life––though, admittedly, she did work for one of the richest businesses in America.

"Take your time," Potter said sympathetically. "Sleep on it if you need to. Once you hire me, you can't take it back. Hermione was serious when she said I've never failed. I'm going to leave for Afghanistan and I'm not returning until either I've found Mister Stark, someone else finds Mister Stark, or I recover his body."

Pepper took a deep breath, and then shook her head. "No, I'll make my decision now. Hermione seems to trust you, and I trust her. I'm out of all other options," she said with gleaming eyes. "And if you can help even a little, I'm more than willing to pay five thousand out of my own pocket."

"Okay, then," Potter said. "Let me tell you my policies and bring out the paperwork."

~ oOo ~

Harry Potter pushed his desk to the center of his new office and leaned back, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Finished," he gasped.

Harry sighed and sat down behind his new desk, leaning back in his chair.

"Maybe it would have been faster if I had used a levitation charm," he mumbled to himself. "Well, no matter. Too late now."

With a wave of his hand, Harry summoned a book from one of his packing boxes to his hand. Before he could read more than a paragraph, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Harry asked, peering over the top of his glasses. "Please, do come in."

"Mr. Potter?" someone female questioned as the door opened.

"Hm?" Harry asked, closing the book. He looked at the person shuffling her feet on the floor. "Oh, yes, Miss Sprifelds," he said with a smile. "Is there a problem I must be made aware of?"

Miss Sprifelds––the receptionist in his new building––nodded her head. "Um, there's someone that wants to meet you––his name's Matt Gripbook."

"Well, bring him in," Harry said.

A very short man with an almost bald head walked into the room and waited until the receptionist left before turning to his client. "You find our work satisfactory?" he asked.

Harry grinned. "Of course!" he said. "You turned this building from a dump into a palace! Just one thing––"

"What?" Griphook asked.

"_Matt_? Seriously?"

"Shut up, wizard."

Harry laughed as Griphook pulled off the illusion making him look human. Standing in Harry's office was now a goblin with an unpleasant sneer.

"All your funds have been moved to the American Gringotts," Griphook said, referring to a small notepad in his pocket. "Your ownership papers of his office building has been properly filed, your location has been hidden from the press, and I searched the market for a healthy House Elf and made a list."

"Thank you, Griphook," Harry said. He smiled, "I don't think we'll be seeing each other again, or at least not for a very long time."

Griphook sneered. "You know, you're not so bad––for a wizard."

Harry shook his head, but remained smiling. "Thank you for all your help," he said.

Griphook pulled his illusion back on and left the office, tucking the notepad back into his pocket.

Harry stood up and looked out the window, looking at the city street below. This was his new home, New York City. The huge city hid him like the stone walls of Hogwarts never could. There were thousands upon thousands of people living here, and a search for the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't go very far. The war was finished, the dead had been buried, and the Order of the Phoenix had things well in hand.

Harry was free to finally live a quiet life.

Harry heard a knock at the door and jostled out of his thoughts. He sprinted toward the door and opened it. "Yes?" he asked.

A woman stood at the threshold of his office, wringing her purse. Her eyes were red with dry tears. "I really need someone's help," she said. "My husband's gone missing!"

Well, maybe not so quiet.

* * *

Please Review; Constructive Criticism Welcomed!


	2. England and Afghanistan

**Published:** July 5, 2013 (Just a few minutes too late for the Fourth of July, drat.)

**Notes**: Wow, I was really surprised at how many people reviewed Private Eye Potter. I'm _especially_ grateful that so many people gave their thoughts on the goods (and bads) of my writing while they were at it. I wasn't expecting this to be popular at all. Huh. Well, this chapter has a little bit more of Harry's past, but it'll be the last big chunk for a while. It also has this terrible things called Emotions just popping up everywhere. Usually I don't start off a chapter with inevitable character death (or not), but whatever, huh? Anywho, I dropped quite a few hints this chapter. Some are obviously mentioned, while some are actually just a _lack_ of mentioning. I'm trying to improve on that, making everything flow together with foreshadowing. I did rush a little bit writing this, so it might have a few mistakes. By the way, is anyone interested in Betaing this fanfic? I warn you, I'm pretty obsessive about editing and I would most appreciate a Beta who would really challenge me to write better.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

England and Afghanistan

* * *

~ oOo ~

Years Ago

~ oOo ~

"Hermione!" Harry gasped, rushing over to his friend. Hermione lay crumpled on the ground, Ron already at her side. Her face was pale and almost lifeless, and her brown eyes were glazed with pain.

"Is she all right?" Harry asked, sending off a spell toward an approaching Death Eater.

Ron lifted her into his lap and rocked back and forth. "She . . . She's been hit with a Life-Taking Curse, Harry," he murmured, tears falling from his eyes. "I don't think she's going to make it. There isn't a cure." (1)

Harry cursed. "We've got to try," he said. He signaled the other members of the Order of the Phoenix to cover the trio's retreat, guarding Ron's back as the redhead carried Hermione to the edge of the Apparation wards.

They stumbled across the broken pavement of the muggle street, coughing at the dust in the air. For a battle like this, Harry had always imagined a cold moonlit ruin or something similiar, but the reality of war wasn't like such fairy tales. The battlegrounds were everywhere, normal muggle streets on hot summer days more often than hidden, exotic locations.

They reached the edge of the Apparation Ward just a few seconds later –– whether it had been cast by a member of the Order of the Phoenix or a Death Eater was always a mystery until the end of the battle. Both sides would not allow the other to run away from what they had coming to them.

Harry wrapped an arm around Ron as Ron Side-Apparated them both to an Order hideout. Hermione gasped painfully at the magic travel, beginning to shiver. They rushed her up the shadowy cellar steps and into Pomphery's competent care.

"Lay her down!" Pomphery yelled, directing Ron Weasley to a cot in the living room. "Move aside!" she said a moment after Ron complied, elbowing Ron out of the way and casting spell after spell.

Madam Pomphery had no time to offer either Harry or Ron a word of comfort, and she hadn't for months now. No longer the friendly Hogwarts Mediwitch, she was now the weary healer for the Order of the Phoenix and its allies.

Harry pulled Ron aside, away from the other wounded wizards laying in rows of cots around the house.

"The Death Eaters were already retreating," Harry said, "so we should probably give them a final push and then have everyone return to be counted."

Counted. It was a rather innocent term. "Counted" meant that Harry would show every returning member to the room where Fawkes had made his home, Fawkes reading their hearts for evil and unbalance while Ron recorded the living and the dead in his recordbook, summarizing everyone's debriefing of the battle before storing his memory of the full debrief under a protected floorboard under Fawkes' perch, inspired by Harry's own loose floorboard at the Dursely's.

If a person didn't pass Fawkes' test, they were placed under lock and key. There were already four people who had gone insane or bad from the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, all of them kept in separate rooms in the hideout until they could be safely moved to a foreign hospital and away from the reach of the Death Eaters. It wasn't safe to place known Order members in St. Mungo's hospital anymore. Not while it was run by the Lestrange brothers.

Harry paused. "Stay with Hermione," he said. "I'll have Tonks record the Counting instead."

Ron nodded absently and walked toward the living room –– and Hermione, the girl he loved –– with confused, uneven footsteps. The situation hadn't fully dawned yet, and Ron was still in that shocked in-between stage.

Harry waited for Ron to duck out of sight before falling to his knees and clutching his head, a low whine escaping his mouth. How many more friends would die before this accursed war was over?!

Harry spent only a moment with his guard down, before pulling all his defenses back into place, Occlumency once again ordering his mind. He controlled his expressions and voice absolutely, allowing no hint of doubt to shadow across his face.

Would they ever end this war? It had only been going on for fourteen months, but Harry had almost forgotten what it was like to not be at war at all. He had spent so long moaning over how unfair the professors were and how Voldemort had killed his parents, but he would give anything to go back to those simpler days.

Harry tapped his wand on the Defense Association Coin, making it burn in the pockets of the Order. Just a few moments afterward, the Order of the Phoenix popped into the only thin place on the Apparation Wards, the cellar warded against Dark Marks. Only Severus Snape's Dark Mark would be allowed to enter and leave this room as he pleased.

Harry waved the Order members upstairs. "Is anyone badly wounded?" he asked, eyes flicking from member to member as they filed one-by-one up the narrow wooden steps.

The Order members in their gray robes pointed to one or two that needed immediate medical attention. Harry nodded at them and sent them on their way, already making a note to check that Pomphery placed a guard in front of a separate room until they had been cleared. Sometimes Pomphery forgot to be careful, too busy saving the lives of Harry's men and women.

"Second floor, to the right," Harry said. "You remember."

Tonks remained behind for a moment. "Is Hermione . . . ?" she asked.

"Alive," Harry said. "At least for now. I don't know how long, Pomphery is still healing the others."

Tonks sighed in relief. "Ron's with her?"

"I wouldn't allow him to be anywhere else," Harry said with a flash in his eyes. "_No one_ will touch Hermione again. Not even Voldemort himself."

Tonks nodded in understanding –– she had already lost her husband Remus, and she would do anything to protect their child, Teddy. "I'll get them settled in Fawkes' room," she volunteered. "Can you send Tricky up with some food and bandages?"

"Of course," Harry said. He called for the house elf and told her to give the Order members the first aid kits and some food and water. Harry leaned against the wall of the cellar for a moment, waiting for any last wizards.

Harry couldn't leave the thin area in the wards here open long, for fear of the Death Eaters just outside the wards sensing the opening and Apparating themselves in, slaughtering them all. It took exactly ten minutes and fourteen seconds for a difference to show itself in these particular wards, Hermione's numbers double-checked by Bill Weasley himself, and that's how much time the Order members were given to get themselves out of the battle to retreat.

Harry checked his watch, waiting until the exact time had passed before closing the wards with a painful heart. No one could seek help here now.

The war was like all of Harry's worst nightmares combined and so much more. Dumbledore was dead, and so was McGonagal, Flitwick, Sprout, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred & George, and so many others. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the only living remainders of Hogwarts' 1995 and 1996 classes who weren't marked Death Eaters. And, soon, the three would become two. (2)

Similarly, Severus Snape was the only remaining member of the original Hogwarts staff still alive, and he often looked it. Snape could spare no energy to compare Harry to his father now, and offered no arguments to Harry's takeover of the Order of the Phoenix after Kingsley's death.

"Let's see how many died," Harry said to himself, trudging back up the cellar stairs.

~ oOo ~

Ron Weasley pulled another book off of the shelves in the storage room, blowing the dust off and scanning through it.

"Have you found anything?"

Ron lunged behind a tower of crates nearby and pointed his wand directly at Harry's heart, wand already waving through the motions of a spell.

"Harry!" Ron said. "Don't sneak up on me!"

Harry frowned apologetically. He jerked his head toward the book that had been dropped back on the shelf.

"No, nothing," Ron said.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" Harry asked.

"I can do it," Ron said stubbornly, pointing an angry finger toward Harry. "You're busy organizing the Order."

"And I'm sorry––" Harry said with deep sorrow in his eyes.

"Don't even try!" Ron said. "Hermione may be important, but even I can see that putting anyone else on researching the Life-Taking Curse isn't worth getting the rest of us killed. Hermione would want it this way, even if she d-dies."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Then he moved forward, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Ron," he started.

Ron shook his hand off, eyes fixed on the thick book. "Leave me be," he said. "I'll find a cure or counterspell yet."

"Are you sure you don't need help? Even for just a little while? You haven't slept or eaten in days," Harry said with worry.

"I'll be fine," Ron said, picking the book up again and sitting back down on the stool in the corner of the room. "Get back out there and talk to Snape about the information he's got from Malfoy –– I know that's what you _should_ be doing right now, not talking to me. The Order needs you, Harry. Hermione would understand."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered as he left the room.

~ oOo ~

Ron turned back to the book and began reading, too tired to understand much more than one word in three. _Life-Taking Curse . . . . Reversed . . . . Life . . . Power . . . Energy . . . Willingly . . ._

Ron froze and reread the passage. A slow smile carved itself onto his face and he jumped for joy. Finally, a cure at last! The smile slowly evaporated as Ron thought things through. Harry wouldn't like this. Harry wouldn't like this at all. It wasn't exactly a cure, but it would save her life. Hermione would live. That would be enough.

~ oOo ~

Present Day

~ oOo ~

Harry shook his head in bewilderment.

"Passengers, we are about to land. Please fasten your seatbelts. Thank you for using Grand Airlines," a sunny female voice said, before repeating the message in a few more languages.

Harry was in an airplane on his way to Afghanistan to find Tony Stark. He wasn't in England anymore. The Wizarding War was over; he was just a private investigator on an awful-paying job. Why had he offered Pepper Potts a discount? Five thousand? For all the trouble that he was about to go through?

The plane landed and Harry disembarked, passing the desks without any problems. His Order of Merlin First Class gave him access to every country on earth, whether or not the muggles who checked his papers realized how he had earned the valuable documents.

Harry walked to the luggage belts and quickly recognized the bag with the magical signature of the Deathly Hollows. The inside of the bag was lined with muggle-repelling wards (and some wizard-repelling wards too, for that matter) but the outside was still "normal" or Harry would have to go on an epic search for his luggage in the belly of his airplanes and the cars on his trains every time he traveled. It was a rather complex piece of charms work, and Harry was quite proud of it.

Harry picked up the bag and ducked into the men's bathroom. Excellent, no one was there. Harry placed a few protective spells on himself, invisible except to the most trained wizard eye. Then he pulled out a white cloak and turban, clothing himself in the local fashion before tapping his face with his finger and muttering a modified hygiene spell until his skin had tanned rather darkly on his reflection in the mirror.

Thus properly attired, Harry Apparated out of the airport and to the Apparation coordinates he had memorized.

Harry appeared at the edge of town square of a small desert village. He saw that his minor self-anchored muggle-repelling ward (very useful when one is an investigator specializing in muggle crime) was still in place and no one had seem him appear out of thin air. He slowly unraveled it and watched as, one after another, the inhabitants of the village looked at the stranger with suspicious eyes.

"Where can I find Ezel?" he asked.

They didn't appear to really understand him. Harry felt a moment of embarrassment. He could already see it on their faces –– _another crazy foreigner. Should we just ignore him and hope he goes away? Can't even speak a proper, normal language, these people._

"Ezel," Harry repeated. His hope began to dwindle.

No one moved. Then, a young boy stood forward and took his hand. He pointed to a small house at the edge of the village. "Ezel," he said simply. Then, he started walking with a short burst of foreign words that Harry thought meant "_follow me_," or at least Harry hoped that was what the boy had said. It could have been "_I'm about to feed you to my pet dragon Spot_."

In Harry's life, the latter was just as likely as the former.

The boy let go of Harry's hand as they reached the door of the house. Harry pinned the boy with a pitiful-looking hopeful stare. "Ezel?"

"Ezel," the boy agreed.

The boy waited in silence as Harry studied the door. Harry raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. Should he really ask _this_ man for help? He had offered help, of course, and given these Apparation coordinates to him after the war, but perhaps he had not truly meant it?

Harry stood there for a good while like an idiot with his hand in the air next to the door. This apparently annoyed the boy, who took his own small fisted hand and knocked it against the door firmly –– before doing the smart thing and running like heck, limbs flying every which way.

Harry gulped. If only he could follow the boy's example.

The door creaked open to the hot midday air and a foreign word was spoken into the air. Harry waited silently as the man finally caught sight of him.

". . . Harry Potter," the man finally said softly, a bit disbelievingly, opening the door wider and gesturing him to come in.

Harry stepped into the small house and heard the door click closed behind him. The village, while not poor, was not quite modern yet, and the houses reflected this. The furniture was all homemade, the carvings in the walls done by hand. It was a simply furnished house, with a bed in the corner, a table and chairs against one wall, and a stuffed bookcases next to it. In the center of the house was a fireplace with pots, pans, and cauldrons hanging above it.

Harry turned to look at the owner of the house with an uncertain expression.

"I honestly did not expect to see you, of all people, again," the man said.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling terribly awkward. He had just _known_ that this was a horrible idea! "I'm sorry. S-Should I leave, then?" he asked, looking down at his feet.

The man scowled. "Don't be stupid," he said. "I didn't say your presence was unpleasant or offending, only unexpected," he said. He looked toward the door, speaking in a rather tired way. "I've grown quite used to my life here, and I hadn't thought to see any of my old acquaintances ever again –– much less the general of the light side himself. Did they ever give you that Order of Merlin they were talking about before I left?" he wondered.

"Erm, well, yeah," Harry admitted with some embarrassment. "Mostly useless, of course, except for when it comes to world travel. Much faster with official Ministry paperwork, even on the muggle side of things. I get to skip all the questions, at least."

The man smirked. "Albus said something very similar to me once. Apparently, Fawkes used the physical Order of Merlin medal as his own personal mirror, saving Albus a whole ten minute trip to Diagon Alley to find one in the Magical Menagerie."

Harry laughed. "That sounds just like Albus. And I bet he was so pleased to save himself that ten minute trip!"

The man placed a kettle over the low fire and sat down at his table. "Oh Merlin," he said, reaching a hand to his head and seeming a bit overwhelmed. "You will never hear me admit this again, but it's good to see you."

Harry transformed his smile into a thoughtful frown, eyes bright. "It's good to see you too," he said sincerely.

The man looked down at his lap. "Did she make it?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said. "She's currently living in a large muggle city, getting yet another big plaque for learning something I can't even begin to understand."

"Good," the man said. "That is very good."

"So, anyway," Harry said. "That's partly the reason I'm here. She's perfectly fine, but she made a muggle friend who had her employer go missing here in Afghanistan. You told me that I could come to you for help if I needed it. Finding one man in all of Afghanistan is nearly impossible. Well, I thought . . ."

The other man's eyes lit up in understanding. "Ah," he said. "You wish for me to scry his location."

"It would be most appreciated. He's already been gone a month. Miss Potts –– Hermione's friend –– she said that asking me for help was her last resort," he said.

"The hero complex rides again," the man said with an amused quirk of his lips.

"I don't _actually_ have a hero complex," Harry complained, brushing a hand through his hair. It was good to be reminded of his past, one of the few pieces that didn't contain suffering and dead bodies. "I simply help were I see it needed. I don't _create_ the problems."

"I beg to differ –– but then, I saw only your flaws for so long," the man admitted, peering up at his guest through his greasy black hair.

"Same here, Severus. I honestly thought you were the most horrible person in the entire Wizarding World for years, second only to Voldemort."

Severus Snape –– much older and wearier than he once was –– smiled. "Well, if your dunderhead brain can manage to keep feeding energy to the spell without blowing it up as you did to so many cauldrons, I'll bond a scrying crystal and send you off on your way," he said. "Don't bother coming back if you get yourself killed. I know quite a few zombie-purifying spells and I won't hesitate to use them. For that matter, I know quite a few ghost warding spells as well."

"Thanks, Severus," Harry said with an almost fond smile. "I've sorta missed you. I'd gotten so used to having the infamous greasy bat of the dungeons snarking at me during the war that I'm afraid I'm quite out of practice at insults." (3)

* * *

(1) Remember this, it's an important hint! "There isn't a cure." That is completely true. However, Hermione is currently living quite healthily in New York City. Huh, wonder how that happened? I love keeping secrets. It makes me feel so evil. (Yes, I'm that pathetic.)

(2) Actually, I have no idea what Harry's graduation year is. I just guessed. If anyone tells me, I'll gladly fix it. I'm just too lazy to do my own research. And tired. It's _two_ in the _morning_. After publishing, I plan to collapse on the nearest horizontal surface and I'm glaring at the person who dares wake me up before nine.

(3) Okay, who expected Severus Snape? Show of hands, please. Severus Snape is going to be a reoccurring character (unless I completely change my mind), so look forward to that. Or, for people who hate Snape, get your rotten tomatoes ready to pelt at him as he approaches. ^_^

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To all who reviewed, I thank all of you from the very bottom of my heart! I'm sorry that I don't have enough space to individually reply to everyone here, but rest assured that I read every single review and appreciate it. I tried to make my replies readable to everyone, so feel free to glance at them.

Darkskeleton: Thank you for your honest opinion, even if it wasn't all positive! I'm very happy you left such a long review. 1)That scene is in the past when Harry first buys his office building in New York City that he currently works out of. I'm deeply sorry if that confused anyone. I honestly just forgot to label that scene as in the past. Whoops? 2)I actually had a very long explanation for why Harry is in New York City and not, say, London, but I realized that I would be explaining that quite a bit in a few chapters. Thank you, I'll be certain to thoroughly explain what Harry was thinking when the time comes. 3)Hermione and Ron; all will be explained in time. 4)You have a point. To be perfectly honest, I just used Griphook because he was there and convenient, even if it doesn't make much sense. I admit it, I was lazy. 5)House elf; I have big plans for that too. Wow, I hope this wasn't too long. Phew.

magical fan18: Thank you very much for your critique and your compliments! If you have anything further to add about the plot or grammar, please share! ^_^ As you can see, I did indeed update very soon.

taxzombie: Thank you for your kind words! I'm personally very excited to explain, later, why Hermione is with Harry in New York City. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, and if not please tell me why and what you had originally expected.

dragonsheart8261920: Thank you! My mother was very strict about grammar and spelling, and though it annoyed me when I was learning it, I really appreciate it now that I've found an interest in writing!

Kitta-Baby: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you like the plot!

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**Next Chapter**: The Jericho Missile

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Please Review; Constructive Criticism Welcomed!


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